


Early Bird

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Solas, F/M, Modern Era, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas wakes up early every day to listen to his neighbor's singing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Sentences never written until now: inspired by 9GAG and "Friends".

Solas was many things, but he was not a creep. Or at least so he used to think until very recently.

Moving into his own bachelor pad after years of couch surfing was supposed to have made him less of a weirdo. So far it seemed to have the opposite effect.

He sighed, his ears still ringing with the melody of his alarm clock. Silence of the city at 5:30 am was deeply satisfying. Nothing but a rare whisper of a car hurrying down the street. An almost unhearable buzz of the electronics. A steady rhythm of his own breath. A slight squeaking of his cheap bed.

There was a click of a light switch on the other side of the wall. He wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t expecting it. Or rather, if he was being frank, looking forward to it.

A muffled rush of waterfall-like water from the shower. 

And then, after unbearable minutes of nothing but an occasional  _thump_ of plastic bottles - her voice. 

When she had first woken him up like this, he was furious - sleeping was his favourite activity; has been ever since he’d learned how to lucid dream as a teenager. But once the haziness of his brain receded and he could actually  _listen_ to her, he was almost thankful. Since then, hearing her sweet soprano* was his preferred way of greeting every new day.

He could tell that she had had no musical training, and her voice was definitely not that of a professional singer anyway. But it was pleasant - and her musical tastes usually matched his, even if he sometimes didn’t know the songs she sung. Except for that one time she had tried to rap (badly), but he was willing to forget that.

She was in a good mood today, singing a jazzy rendition of what he identified as the latest pop hit he’s heard on the radio recently. Her voice was cheerful, lowering ridiculously at the chorus to imitate the original male singer’s. 

He was smiling so hard his cheeks were starting to hurt.

Then, the concert stopped, and so did the sound of running water, and the world was suddenly as silent as the void.

He got up minutes later and got dressed to the sound of garbage trucks’ beeping.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t particularly interested in meeting her personally. It was unavoidable, of course. They lived door to door so occasional meetings were bound to happen. But until then he was free to imagine her however he liked, and there was freedom in it. 

She sounded small. Petite even, something like a pixie. In his mind she had long, red hair - definitely long, showers took her at least three songs. A bit of a hipster. Lover of short novels and sweet coffees John Lennon sunglasses and a beanie hat. Cat-patterned sweaters.

He knew she didn’t spend much time in her apartment. He somewhat-unwillingly came to know her daily routine by the sound of keys battling the door. She would wake up at dawn and leave soon after, to return around 8:30 in the evening. She didn’t invite anyone over - probably because of how small her apartment was, if it looked anything like Solas’. A tiny bathroom, a toilet, and a living room (which was at the same time a kitchen, an office and a bedroom).

He wondered if she was a student or closer to his age.

He wondered if she liked art. Or history. Or if she sometimes wondered who her neighbor was.

… Maybe he was a bit interested in meeting her after all.

 

* * *

 

He caught himself thinking about her randomly one day in his apartment complex’ laundry. Where she was, whether something happened to her, or whether she’s met someone and that’s why he didn’t hear her at all in the last week - a simple train of thought which ended as soon as it started, but the fact that this strange woman, who mostly existed in his head, started being a part of his life surprised him so much he almost choked.

It was Sunday before 6 a.m, so he was in no hurry. He started putting laundry into one of the machines and started analyzing how ridiculous this entire situation was getting.

You can’t  _care_ for someone just because you’ve been listening to them sing in the shower each morning for two months. It’s like saying you’re in love with a celebrity - but those weirdos at least knew how their object of obsession  _looked like_ .

Weird. Obsession. Somewhere between a shirt and his old woolen sweater he started feeling nauseous.

“Oh, shit!” A feminine yelp startled him. Not because of the suddenness of the noise, but because he knew that voice. Knew it better than his own at this point. Apparently she reserved the same phrases for dropped shampoo bottles and strangers doing their laundry.

Ah, no, it wasn’t directed at him. A few fallen socks were the cause of her dismay.

She was as petite as he had imagined her, and that was probably the only thing he got right. 

She was covered in mud, from the top of her short, wavy black hair to her feet in pink flip-flops. If it wasn’t for the shoes, she’d probably be leaving a trail of dirty footprints. Instead of a basket, she was carrying a backpack half her size. Her skin was olive, dark, but her eyes were grey. The steel kind of grey. They were staring at him. 

... No,  _he_ was staring at her.

He forced himself to smile despite the sudden ice-cold tightness in his stomach. 

"Had a pleasant trip, I take it?"

That earned him a soft smile.

"You a detective or something?"

"I could be. Got an eye for detail," he said in his best nonchalant voice. Her smile widened.

"How prideful! And yet you haven't noticed that you have forgotten your breeches," she teased as she moved to the machine next to him. She laughed as he looked down automatically. "Oh, gods. I said  _breeches_ . I knew I was spending too much time with Sera. I was joking, anyway."

She was at least ten years younger than him. She could easily pass for a college student. Maybe she even was one?

"A friend of yours?"

"Oh, gods forbid. A coworker. I'm a photographer, she's a journalist. The sort that makes every politician cower in fear." She sighed and started sorting her laundry, which was significantly less dirty than her. He couldn’t help but be curious. They were kneeling next to each other for a while in silence.

“I didn’t know politicians were so keen on having conferences in the middle of a swamp.”

“Oh, well, most of them are toads, you know. Natural habitat.” She gave him a moment for a chuckle.“Seriously though, I was trying to get some nice wildlife photos for National Geographic. I’m tired of capturing the same angry faces talking over and over.”

“I see,” he mumbled. “And how did it go?”

“I haven’t slept in 28 hours. There was a bear nearby. Close enough to hear him and fear for your fear life, but not close enough to localize him. I’m still angry about that. Plus, I don’t remember what it’s like to be dry. Fun times.”

“Exciting.”

“Very. I’m sure your weekend was even more so.”

Solas smiled, “You would never believe me.”

Her eyes shone with curiosity but something stopped her from pushing. Instead, she asked, "So, mister could-be-detective, why are you here so early? Afraid of some inter-neighborly interaction?”

“Maybe,” he smiled. “I can’t say I’ve met any of them, though.”

“Well, now you have. Second floor, number 7.”

“Lucky.”

She laughed. Their elbows were inches apart.

“That’s my middle name. My first, on the other hand, is Ida, nice to meet’cha.” She hardly hesitated before reaching with her hand, despite it being brown with dirt. He shook it, deliberately holding it a bit too long.

“The pleasure’s mine. You can call me Solas.”

“Well, I can, but what about everybody else? Do you have many first names?”

He felt the tips of his ears burn at her teasing.

“Why,” he grinned. “I can’t tell you everything about myself all at once, can I? That would ruin the fun.”

She tilted her head, calculating, oddly serious all of a sudden. They were still touching, but it didn’t feel as weird as it should. The thought was unsettling.

“Agreed,” she said slowly and nodded. “If any fun is to be had, I’d rather leave secrets for later.”

The air shifted.  _Now_ the touch felt weird. Inappropriate. Strangely intimate. 

Ida smirked and started to get up, forcing their hands apart. He was trying to focus on his own dirty clothes as she loaded hers into two washing machines, but he was strangely distracted. He got up when she was done putting in coins.

“I hope I don’t clog anything. I have to be at work in a few hours, I don’t have time to deal with the consequences of my stupidity.”

“Considering your middle name, I think you’ll be fine.” 

And then, because he was feeling stupid and she was teasing him, he added, “You should wash your delicates separately.”

She looked at him funny for a minute, and then smirked. It was the kind of smirk Solas was used to seeing on hungry carnivores (think foxes, sharks and particularly adventurous cats), or the kind of people who wanted to sleep with him. He wasn’t sure what’s more accurate in this case. When she spoke, her voice was strained by barely held up laughter.

“Oh, and that would be...?”

He flushed slightly. What got into him to even start this?!

“Your… underthings. Bras. Pan-uh-underwear.”

“Oh,” her smile widened. “Oh, I see. Thank you for pointing that out. You’re very helpful...”

“I’m sorry, I was trying to be-”

“...But my delicates are so delicate that I have to wash them by hands. It gets tedious, doing it alone.”

He blinked. This couldn’t be an invitation. Even if it was, he wasn’t that kind of guy who… who would…

She laughed.

“Relax, relax, I think I’m kidding. See you around, I gotta go take a shower.”

She  _thinks_ she’s kidding?! They’ve only just met! What if he was some sort of a pervert?!

“Do you want me to see you around in the shower?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

She didn’t turn around, but he could swear she was grinning.

 

\---

 

**Author's Note:**

> *I imagine Ida’s voice to be similar to that of Ilene Woods, who was a mezzo-soprano. You know nothing, Solas!
> 
> I'm not a native speaker. If anyone feels up for it, I'd love to have a beta. Until then, please don't point out my mistakes in the comments, I'd rather you do it in a private message.


End file.
